


You, Me, Mars: A Riarkle Ficlet Collection

by alessandralee



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, Ficlet Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:05:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of all my short Riarkle ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hayride

Riley loves autumn.

Okay, she could find something to love in any time of the year (except for that one week last August when their air conditioning broke), but right now autumn has her heart.

So when Farkle’s mom offered to take them apple-picking upstate, Riley was the first to agree.

Enthusiastically, of course.

So now she’s bundled up in her favorite scarf, clutching a plastic bad marked Mercer’s Orchard, and sitting next to Farkle as they take a hayride to the actual apples.

Maya’s sitting up front, having an intense debate with Zay about some band. Lucas is moderating, otherwise Riley would be worried about things getting out of hand.

“I’m so excited,” she says.

She doesn’t get to leave the city much, and when she does it’s usually to visit her grandparents in Philadelphia. She doesn’t know anyone there, except for Auggie and Josh. They’re great, but after a few days of being stuck with just them, she goes a little crazy.

But this, this is amazing. Mrs. Minkus just paid for their apple bags and waved them off with a comment about a wine tasting barn.

“I’m excited that you’re excited,” Farkles tells her. “Although I’m not really sure what we’re going to do with this many apples.”

Each of them needed to buy a bag to be let on the hayride.

Riley’s already printed off a bunch of apple-themed recipes.

“Well there’s apple pie, apple crumb pie, apple cobbler, apple sauce, caramel apples, candy apples, apple fritters, apple donuts, apple cookies, and apple crumble,” she lists off.

Not to mention apple cider, but that looked beyond her abilities. She saw some in the orchard’s store, though.

Farkles looks at the bag in their hand, doing some calculations in his head.

“I think we might need more bags,” he announces.

Riley wishes, because then her home would smell like apples and cinnamon from now until Thanksgiving. But between school and spending time with her friends, those apples would go bag before she found the time do make all of those recipes.

Also she might turn into an apple.

“That’s okay,” she says. “I’m mostly here for the experience.”

“Glad to provide.”


	2. Warm Sweaters

“Remind me never to do that again,” Farkle says. His teeth are chattering so hard, he’s not sure Riley actually understands him.

Methodically, she unzips his icy cold jacket, then his sweatshirt. She grabs the first sweater she can find in her drawer, purple with a large black heart, and pulls it over his head.

It’s a little hard to maneuver his arms through the sleeves, but she manages. Then she does the same with her fuzzy turquoise bathrobe, and shoves him under the covers of her bed. For added warmth, she piles a drawer full of sweaters on top of that.

“Are you insane?” she whisper-yells, not wanting to wake her parents up. “You’re lucky I even saw you out there.”

How could he do something so dumb? It’s freezing outside. He’s lucky it didn’t snow like the forecast said it would.

“I wanted to be the first to wish you a happy birthday,” Farkle explains. He’s warmed up enough to actually speak clearly.

For a moment, Riley looks touched. But then the concerned anger returns.

“We spent the weekend visiting my grandparents. You still should have waited out on the fire escape. You could have come waited on the stairs or something,” she lectures. He’s a harmless kid, someone would have let him into the building. “You could have frostbite.”

“Doubtful,” he replies. “The feeling’s returned everywhere but the tips of my toes. I’m sure those are next. I’ll survive.”

That’s a relief.

“You’ll have to survive on the couch,” she tells him.

She can’t very well send him out into the cold again. And if her parents found him in her room, they wouldn’t trust either one of them ever again.

She guides him into the living room, still bundled up in her sweater and bathrobe. She even lends him a pair of warm wool socks.

Once she’s sure he’s not going to die of hypothermia, she turns off the lights.

“Happy birthday, Riley,” Farkle whispers.

Her phone died halfway home from Philly, so technically he is the first person to tell her that.


	3. Cold

Playing tourist in New York City comes to be one of Riley’s favorite pastimes. With just months to go until she leaves for college (the wait to hear from schools is killing her), it’s become the perfect time for her to visit the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building.

But competing with tourists for a spot on the Highline is a lot tougher than she thought it would be. And a lot colder. She wishes she’d brought gloves.

But she’s definitely glad she brought Farkle.

Unlike her, he has no problem pushing his way through the tourists crowding every inch of available space.

“I really didn’t think there would be this many of them,” Riley says. “I mean, it’s freezing out.”

“New York City at Christmas,” Farkle replies wistfully. “Beautiful, but packed.”

“But we’re outside,” Riley complains. “I thought they’d all be at Rockefeller Center.”

“Bad luck,” Farkle frowns sympathetically. “We could leave. I’m sure Chelsea Market is slightly less crowded.”

At this point, Riley doesn’t feel that’s guaranteed. They should have never left their neighborhood.

The crowd opens up a bit as the people around them turn down into one of the viewing platforms. Riley’s glad for the extra space, but it also comes with extra breeze.

She shivers and digs her hands even further into her pocket.

“Riley, I mean it. We can stop. Go get hot chocolate or coffee or something,” Farkle tries to reason with her.

But Riley shakes her head. Today she is crossing the Highline off her list of unexplored New York. That means the whole thing, even if she gets frostbite.

“Keep walking,” she pulls her right hand out of her coat pockets to point straight ahead.

Farkle grabs it and shoves it into the pocket of his own coat.

At least he remembered to wear gloves today. Where did she even put hers?

Riley suspects that Farkle’s coat is made out of some magical wool that blocks three times as much cold as hers. Either that she made a poor decision at the mall last year.

Not only does her hand feel warmer, her entire body does, pressed up close to Farkle.

It’s because he’s tall, probably. When did he get so tall? Are his shoulder filling out? He’s still slender, but they do seem a bit broader.

Why is she noticing these things?

Riley can’t help but blush.

Lucky for her, Farkle mistakes her red cheeks for another sign of how cold she is.

“That’s it, I’m making an executive decision,” he insists. “We are going somewhere warm. We’ll come back in the spring.”

Riley nods and lets him pull her to the nearest stairway.


End file.
